Fleur de Saison
by deadliestdeceit
Summary: Life was hectic. Voldemort was lurking around the proverbial corner and the Triwizard Tournament was making everyone crazy. Hermione just wanted to get through the year alive; not fall in love with the beautiful Fleur Delacour. GOF. Hermione/Fleur.
1. Chapter 1: Electric Shock

—**Fleur de Saison**—

**Author:** Be gentle? This is only my second fic, and flames would probably damage my already low-opinion of my work. Constructive criticism however, is welcome—no matter how harsh. I _want_ to improve, and I can't do that without being aware of what I'm doing wrong. Okay, on another note, the Title is derived from the beautiful blue's song sung by Emilie Simon called Fleur's de Saison. A beautiful piece of music, and her voice is absolutely divine. Check it out, yes?

**Hermione/Fleur. Sum** — Life was hectic. Voldemort was lurking around the proverbial corner and the Triwizard Tournament was making everyone crazy. Hermione just wanted to get through the year alive; not fall in love with the beautiful Fleur Delacour, who she had thought she would never see again.

—|—|—|—

_**#**__—Electric Shock: Chapter 1_

Hermione sighed, for what seemed like the umpteenth time. Julia Granger, her mother, had been lecturing her on the precautions to take when walking the streets of St Tropez. Her parent seemed to find the fact that she _understood_ what she had been babbling about for the last hour very difficult to grasp, as she was plowing on; sounding like a broken record all the while.

"—and _do not_, I repeat, _do not_ speak with any strange men you may bump into. They might _seem_ charming and sweet, but hidden in the depths of their souls are is beastly ugliness of a sexual predator—_preying_ on young and naive school girls like yourself—"

"Mum—"

"—and God said; "Thou shalt not—"

"_Mum—_!"

Julia carried on as though her daughter hadn't spoken, once again. "Men in this day an age are a _disgrace_. I worry for you Hermione. How are you going to find a decent man to settle down with when the world is filled with disgusting perverts and lechers—"

"Julia, I don't—" Frank Granger started, slightly offended at his wife's opinion on the male population, yet she took no heed to his words either; completely lost within her own one-sided conversation.

"Mother, I'll be careful." Hermione interrupted again, an expression of disbelief overtaking her features. "Honestly. . ." she shook her head while quickly picking up her bag—filled with her beach towel, sun screen, a digital camera, a cellphone, as well as food and water. Perched on the bridge of her nose were a pair of dark shades; RayBan's she had purchased last summer when she and her family vacationed in California.

Julia stood with her daughter, obviously not finished speaking. "Hermione—"

"Bye Mum! I promise I'll call you later, alright?" Hermione darted her mother a swift peck on the cheek and waved to her father. "Don't have too much fun without me!"

Hermione gave a great sigh of relief as the door to their hired summer home slammed shut behind her. Briefly, she smiled to herself, elated to finally have some time away from her family. She loved her parents, but she wasn't a little girl anymore—and even though she anticipated seeing them on the holidays she wasn't at Hogwarts, she needed at least a little space to herself sometimes. That fact seemed to have flown right over the top of her mothers head.

"Freedom. . .," the small smile she had been bearing expanded into a toothy grin as adjusted the straps of her bag and began to step down the stairs leading to the crowded streets of St Tropez below, ". . . here I come."

The highly demanded quaint town was bustling with too rich tourists and famous muggle celebrities that Hermione vaguely recognized from the movies she watched when she visited her parents for the holidays. Many were rushing around, stumbling into other people and not bothering to apologize. Small, expensive shops where lined up in neat little rows, beautiful clothes and trinkets offered for sale at hefty, almost outrageous prices.

Hermione pushed through the crowds of people as she made her way down various paths leading to the beach she knew was near; however, just as she turned a corner, her eyes caught sight of a shaded stall selling pocket knives of various sizes and colours. Getting closer, she ran her eyes over the shiny objects, until they fixed on a bright red one, with a white cross emblem on it.

Picking it up, she opened the little gadgets and blades it had and quickly found herself forking over the euro's to buy it. Hermione had promised both Ron and Harry that she would bring them back a souvenir each—and she knew Ron would be enamored with the small bladed gift immediately. Now, if only she could find something suitable for Harry, her endeavor would be complete.

Harry was notoriously hard to buy for, even though he didn't have much and would probably appreciate anything he was given—she wanted to get him something useful, something he would like. Though, she knew he would much rather prefer something magical opposed to muggle. Maybe she could convince her parents to let her visit magical Paris to get him something. Some new Quidditch goggles and gloves, perhaps.

Resolved to ask permission for the trip, Hermione absentmindedly stepped forward and it wasn't until the last second that she realized she was in the direct path of a large, red bus—which didn't look like it was about to stop anytime soon. Mute and frozen in horror of the immediate death that was literally staring her in the face, Hermione felt the blood rushing to her head and began to become dizzy. Just as the bus was nearing her, she closed her eyes, steeling herself for her terrible fate.

The names and faces of her loved ones rushed through her mind, small snap shots of her happier memories, and her more dangerous ones. Parting really was such a sweet sorrow, Hermione knew now—and she accepted it. This was one fatal situation she wasn't about to get out of. Ha, how ironic. Hermione Granger, who had faced fluffy, and devils snare, had been petrified by a basilisk and survived an encounter with at least a hundred dementors at the same time, was about to die by being run over by a bus. What an anti-climatic ending she was destined to have.

Death, Hermione decided with her eyes still squeezed shut, felt like a sweet, comfortable embrace—for she had never felt so safe and protected in her life. As though all her worries and problems had faded away, ready to be forgotten completely. It was like she was as weightless as a feather, her shoulders no longer weighed down with the troubles of the world. Wherever she was seemed to smell good too, Hermione had always loved the scent of fresh strawberries and cream.

"Mhmm. . ." she moaned lowly, snuggling into the softness of her peril. If this was death, she surely never wanted to wake from it again. It wasn't until a lilting, breathy giggle escaped her 'afterlife' did she realize that, in fact, she hadn't died, and in reality, was actually cozying—embarrassingly so—up to her savior.

"Ah, il semble que mon belle demoiselle me semble. Comme c'est mignon. ." the beautiful, delicate teenager currently lying on top of her cooed, her native language rolling over her tongue like a flowing, silken caress. A shiver shot down Hermione's spine. Eyes snapping open wide, all she could do was stare up at the girl—_angel—_and try not to pass out from sheer mortification. She had never felt so utterly embarrassed in all her life. (_Ah, it seems my beautiful damsel seems to like me. How cute.)_

"Désolé, je suis tellement désolé! S'il vous plaît pardonnez—moi-je-je ne savais pas. . ." Hermione apologized profusely in broken French, cursing herself as she felt a furious, hot blush begin to heat up her cheeks. As the mysterious, beautiful stranger helped her up, she avoided the older girls gaze and tried to will the flush from her face, lest she embarrass herself further by doing an impression of a tomato. (_Sorry, I'm so sorry! Please forgive me—I-I didn't know. . ._)

"Shall I speak like this, oui? You have an adorable accent. English, I believe?" The older, supermodel-looking girl cocked her head; a long, straight wave of jonquil-coloured hair flowing over her slender left shoulder as she did so. Hermione valiantly tried not to let her breath hitch as she met bright, sparkling azure-eyes.

The strangers face appeared to have been carved from the finest marble—as pale as a porcelain doll, with a dusting of fuchsia barely visible on her high cheekbones. Eyes were framed by thick, long black eyelashes, which when she blinked appeared to brush the apples of her cheeks. A soft-pink mouth, with plush pouted lips curled in a small smirk—

Noticing that she had been caught studying—_gaping_—the enchanting girl, Hermione floundered with her words in a way to cover up her discourtesy. "Oh-uh, y-yeah. Hermione Granger, that's my name. I'm from Manchester, actually. . . I'm here on a vacation with my parents." she paused, eyes dropping to her ballet-slipper clad feet shyly, another light blush rising. "Thank you—for saving me I mean. I didn't—ugh, I'm sorry I," she gritted her teeth forcing herself to say the next word, ". . . _cuddled_ you before."

A soft, electric touch on the bottom of her chin caused Hermione to look up, and it was only her stubbornness and pride that prevented her lungs from freezing this time. "Do not worry. I do not mind such cute girls cuddling me," she giggled coyly, "I am Fleur Delacour. It is a pleasure to meet you, 'Ermione Granger; mon coeur." the current emitting fingertips were dragged along the skin of her cheek, before Fleur took it away. Hermione, distracted by the touch, didn't catch the end of her saviors sentence. (_My heart.)_

"Y-yeah," Hermione nodded, and tried to gather her wits. It was difficult, when she could feel the tingling lingering on her cheek, somehow though, with herculean effort; she managed—just barely. "Are you from around here? Or do you live somewhere else in France?"

For a second, Fleur's perfectly shaped face was etched with a sort of pain, before her expression morphed into something more composed and carefree. "I do not live here, non. I, like you am on a vacation. Paris, you could say, is my home." the older-teen gave an even, white toothed smile, and presented Hermione with her sunglasses; which had been knocked off when Fleur had tackled her. "I believe these are yours, oui?"

Hermione took the RayBan's from Fleur's hand and couldn't suppress the shudder at the tingling feeling their shared skin contact elicited. With a delicate blush, she smiled appreciatively at her new found acquaintance and tried to be as friendly as possible. Maybe if she spent more time with her rescuer, she wouldn't feel as nervous in her presence. "Thanks. . . umm, Fleur?"

A finely arched jonquil-coloured eyebrow rose as Fleur gazed at her with question. "Oui?"

"W-would you like to come to the beach with me? I mean, I was heading there alone—because I know no one here, and you seem nice, and your alone too. So I was thinking you wouldn't mind, if you didn't have something else to do. You might have to meet up with your family for I know, or your boyfriend perhaps, but if you wanted you could maybe—"

"I'd love to join you." Fleur cut her off with a beatific smile, eyes twinkling with mirth at Hermione's nervous rambling. It was cute, really. But honestly, so far Fleur had found everything the younger girl did was cute, and probably would for sometime.

"You would?" Hermione broke out in a large, genuine smile; one that captivated Fleur, who was used to sneers and glares from her female peers—an unfortunate effect her heritage had on her social life. She had already knew however, that Hermione wouldn't be the same as all the others. Fleur had known that at first glance that the petite, dark-haired girl was different, oh so different.

"Of course. Who could resist such a tempting offer from a cute girl like you?" Fleur smiled back, enjoying the blush that spread across Hermione's cheeks at her flirtatious words.

Hermione ignored the jolt in her stomach that thick lilting accent triggered, and without thinking, she grasped Fleur's hand and pulled the astonished jonquil-haired girl along behind her as she pushed through the crowds and headed towards the beach, which was only a a block up ahead. Subconsciously, she scowled at any men who let their eyes rest on her new found companion, a silent warning in her eyes.

Fleur smiled with delight, squeezing Hermione's slightly smaller hand in her own and biting her lip. At first, she had been reluctant to travel to muggle St Tropez, but her family had insisted. Not being a prejudice pureblood family, they seemed to have an odd fascination with muggles and their various inventions—especially the black box that played images called a 'TV'. Fleur herself had not been as interested, but after meeting the muggle Hermione Granger, she could see why anyone would be intrigued.

—|—|—|—

_Hey, 'Mione._

_How's your summer been? Mine has been as boring as usual, but I couldn't have said I expected anything different from the Durselys. They have been better this time though, but I think that's just because their worried I'll blow them up like a balloon like I did to Vernon's sister. Dudley won't even look at me—not that I'm complaining, mind you. I've done all my assignments, you'll be happy to hear, but there's nothing else to do really, other than read and do assignments. Little Whinging isn't the most exciting place to be; not like France, anyway. _

_I've been wondering, have you heard anything from Ron? He sent me a letter about some Quidditch World Cup that Mr. Weasley was trying to get tickets for. He was wondering if I was interested, and he mentioned he was going to ask you along. I wasn't sure you would agree, seeing as you don't fancy Quidditch that much, and I'm sure France sounds better to you, but I was hoping, if you can, can you come along with us. . . please? I don't want to be a bother, but I always feel like such a burden when I stay at the burrow. I know Mrs. Weasley would love to have you, and maybe you and Ginny would get along. She's only a year younger than we are, remember?_

_Anyway, I hope to see you soon._

_Love, Harry._

Hermione sighed as she looked down at the letter, her gaze flickering up at the photo frame on her bedside table for a moment. The still picture inside was one her parents had taken a few days ago, when they had come with her to meet the older girl she had befriended. Hermione hadn't been surprised to see that had immediately taken a liking to the azure-eyed girl, and demanded both she and Hermione let them take some photo's of them together, so they would remember each other. It was of Fleur embracing Hermione from behind, her chin resting on the shorter girls shoulder—the sun setting over the sparkling blue ocean in the background—both of them had wide, almost goofy, grins on their faces.

Another sigh escaped her lips as Hermione remembered Fleur had gone home yesterday, along with her family—of which Hermione had only met briefly, yet liked very much so; even if they acted a little strangely. Memories of beach trips and shopping spree's flashed through her mind at the speed of sound, and a melancholy smile tugged at her lips. She would miss Fleur, but they had traded cell numbers and email addresses and promised to keep in touch.

_Dear Harry,_

_I have to say, this has had to have been the best vacation of my life. You wouldn't believe how beautiful the beaches and towns are here. You can find masterpiece artworks on the street, anywhere you go, books, music—it's been amazing. My parents were overprotective and barely let me out of their sight at first, but they ended up warming up to the idea of me exploring on my own eventually. _

Hermione hesitated, frowning for a moment as she debated whether or not to mention Fleur. After a small deliberation she decided against it. Selfishly, she wanted what she and Fleur had to be private, and Hermione was sure if she told Harry about her, Ron would subsequently be informed, and then want to see 'evidence'—most likely believing it to be a lie. She had no doubt once he saw the pictures he would probably slobber all over them like an over excited puppy. No, Hermione decided, Fleur's was hers.

Her friend, she meant. Yes, her friend. The frown deepened, why did it hurt to call the jonquil-haired girl a friend? Wasn't that was she was? Or was there more? Hermione cut of her train of thought and shook her head. Now wasn't the time to ponder these things, and with determination, she pressed her inked quil into the parchment and continued her letter—leaving out any details that involved Fleur; which really was very little.

_I'm glad the Dursleys haven't been giving you a hard time, I had been worrying myself into an early grave about that. I won't bore you with my rambling about museums and different types of sea life here, so I'll get straight to the point—yes, I have heard from Ron, though I admit the letter was barely discernible, but I managed to catch the gist of it. I've already asked my parent's if I could go, and they agreed—they are taking me to the French Ministry tomorrow to organize a portkey to the Burrow. _

_I'll see you soon, stay well. (I've got presents for both you and Ron as well, but don't tell him—I don't want to spoil the surprise; you know he loves them.)_

_Love, Hermione._

—|—|—|—

**Note:** I hope you like this. I accidentally stumbled across a Fleur/Hermione fic a couple of days ago, and I've become hooked. I've ready all the _Harry Potter Series_ and watched the movies, but this is the first time I've attempted to write a fic for them—actually, this is only my second fic xD— They are such a beautiful couple, and would compliment each other so well. Beautiful smart; one's hot-headed and quick to temper, and the other is cool and composed. If my French is a little off, tell me? I only know very little of it, so I'm sure I've probably made mistakes. . .

Anyway, I digress. Review and tell me if I should bother continuing with this, or just forget about it? Muchly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2: Down The Rabbit Hole

—**Fleur de Saison**—

**Author:** Alright, next chapter—Hermione's at the Burrow, going to the World Cup. This chapter I was listening to another song by Emilie Simon called Dame de Lotus, check it out—and remember to review if you like this.

**Hermione/Fleur. Sum** — Life was hectic. Voldemort was lurking around the proverbial corner and the Triwizard Tournament was making everyone crazy. Hermione just wanted to get through the year alive; not fall in love with the beautiful Fleur Delacour, who she had thought she would never see again.

—|—|—|—

**#**_—Down The Rabbit Hole: Chapter 2_

Hermione felt like Alice from Wonderland as she appeared in the Weasley's kitchen fireplace—since the French Ministry had suggested it would be an easier and safer way to travel over the ocean than by portkey. The house was filled to the brim with odd trinkets and various magical and muggle gadgets. Two separate sets of eyes where fixed on her as she stepped out of the fireplace, spluttering and coughing with soot all over her face. It was undeniable however, the house had a welcoming sense of warmth—a comfortable atmosphere.

"Harry? Ron?" she blinked for a moment, wiping to charcoal from her left cheek before dropping her trunk and gathering both of them into a friendly embrace. Chrookshanks hissed with annoyance as his cage dropped to the ground. "I've missed you both so much! Oh, where is everyone?"

"Mphh. . . _Hermione_—!" Hermione let them both go and gave them apologetic looks for her overexcited greeting, she knew that they where teenage boys and not to fond of hugs, but it had been weeks since she had last seen them in person. Flickering her gaze to Crookshanks, she quickly let him out, and suppressed a smile as she watched him lazily lay in a spot of sun shining through one of the Burrows windows.

Hermione glanced at Harry, who straightened his crooked glasses before answering her. "Gin and the twins are out playing a game of Quidditch with their older brothers, Charlie and Bill—their coming with us for the Cup—me and Ron where playing too but we saw the fireplace flair up through the window and came into see what was going on, only to see you step out." Harry grinned, "I thought you were coming by portkey?"

"I was," Hermione said, wiping the rest of her face and neck with the sleeve of her blue sweater. "But the French Ministry said it would be safer for me to come by Floo, seeing as I was travelling overseas. I didn't exactly want to drown somewhere in the middle of ocean." she huffed out a breath, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "Wow, that was really surreal." suddenly she gave Harry her infamous chiding look, "And it's 'Ron and I'."

Before Harry could defend himself, the front door slammed open and Ginny Weasley stalked through, dressed in hand-me-down Quidditch robes and a Cleansweep in her hands. The furious expression on her face didn't diminish in the least when she saw Harry and Ron standing in the middle of the kitchen. "You bloody morons! You just left me out there to be completely hammered! I ought to—Hermione?"

"Hi Ginny," Hermione smiled at her, "How's your summer been?"

"Horrible," the only female sibling in the Weasley brood dropped into a chair, throwing her hands into the air. "The house has been ransacked by males and their over inflated ego's. I swear, it's a miracle I'm not locked up in Azkaban for murder by now. They've been driving me up the wall, and it's only gotten worse since Bill and Charlie have gotten here. Everything is some stupid bloody competition!"

Hermione hid her amusement by holding a hand over her mouth as Ginny's sharp eyes honed in on Ron and Harry; who were trying to discreetly shuffle out of the room and away from the redheads fiery wrath. "And where do you think you two are going? I'm nowhere near finished with you! Oi, come back here!" the three sprinted out of the kitchen, various expressions of fear and fury on their faces.

Letting out a small laugh, Hermione herself collapsed into one of the kitchen tables rickety looking dining chairs while pulling her cellphone out of her pocket. Smiling, pressed the 'OK' button to view her newest text.

_Hey, was your flight to England okay? I hope you didn't get scared, otherwise I would feel guilty for not being there to protect you. Are you at your friends home yet? Or are you still travelling? —Fleur_

Hermione looked out through the widow, her gaze landing on an enraged Ginny trying to beat Ron with the shaft of her broom.

_Hi, no of course I didn't get scared. I'm too stubborn for that, you know ;). Yeah, I am at the Weasley's. It's chaos, but the good chaos, I mean. I like it here—it's very homey and alive, I guess. How is your family? Is Gabrielle still up to no good? —Hermione._

The cell vibrated a few seconds later when Fleur replied.

_We are visiting __grandmère__ at the moment, it's nice here—the surrounding forests and rivers are lovely to go swimming in during the summer. Oui, Gabby is as mischievous as ever—working to put mam__a__n into an early grave like usual. Papa is working again, his holidays ended yesterday. I'm missing you, everything feels so different without you around, even though we were only together for a few weeks. —Fleur_

Hermione blushed, trying not to smile too widely.

_I know what you mean. I miss you too. . . __—Hermione_

"Hey, what's that?" Hermione jolted as Ron's voice came from behind her, and she tried not to look guilty as she attempted to surreptitiously slip the device back into her pocket. Ron however, with rare observational skills saw this and snatched the phone from her hands and began fiddling with it.

Standing up, Hermione tried to get it back, but Ron had grown substantially over the holidays and now towered over her, and his arms where at least three inches longer. "Ronald, if you don't give that back to me right now I'll tell your mother about how you broke your grandfathers antique watch last year. . ." she threatened, glaring at him and crossing her arms.

With slumped shoulders and a sulky expression, Ron handed the cell back. "That was low, 'Mione." he almost pouted, "Can you at least tell me what is, then? I've never seen anything like it before." he peered curiously at the small silver muggle invention she was now holding.

"It's called a cellphone. Muggles use them to communicate, like using the Floo or a patronus—they use theses things called 'satellites' to send messages and transmit sound waves from phone to phone." her voice took a scholarly edge, and predictably Ron lost interest when he realised when it was just useful for communicating.

"Right. . ." Ron nodded in an understanding way, acting as though he knew what she was talking about. "Who were you sending messages to, then?" he questioned, frowning at her when she blushed.

"Just a muggle friend. Don't worry about it, okay?" Hermione picked up her trunk, speaking curtly. Ron took the obvious hint and backed off a little. "Am I sleeping in Ginny's room like last year?"

Ron shrugged, "Yeah. I think that's what mum said. Here, I'll show you where it is. Watch out for Percy's room. He's been a right prat ever since he got a job at the Ministry. I don't want to hear him go into another spiel about us distracting him from his 'cauldron bottoms'." Hermione followed after the grumbling boy and parted ways with him when they reached Ginny's bedroom.

The rest of the afternoon passed lazily. Hermione spent sometime outside watching the others playing Quidditch, and an odd game where they levitated tables and tried to knock their opponents table out of the air to win. That ended, however, when Percy began screaming out of his bedroom window for them to 'keep it down'. Molly Weasley made an appearance briefly, before hustling them all into the kitchen for dinner. Arthur Weasley sat at the table calmly—easily ignoring the mayhem surrounding him and reading the Daily Prophet.

"Fred, George!" Molly bellowed, as she again picked up one of their fake wands. "How many time's have I told you not to leave these things lying around! This is the sixth time, and I'm reaching my wits end. If you keep this up, you wont be going to the World Cup, I'm telling you now!"

The twins traded barbs with their mother over the dining table, as the rest of the men chatted excitedly about who they thought would win the World Cup, eventually breaking out into arguments with Ginny joining into at random intervals. Hermione texted Fleur conspicuously underneath the table, and Harry was quiet as he ate his food and occasionally made a remark concerning the team players he liked.

Soon enough, everyone was shuffling off to bed; on Molly's insistence. Ginny fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, exhausted from her day of Quidditch and games, while Hermione had a harder time surrendering to slumber. After a short conversation with Fleur, and a smile on her face; she somehow managed to drift off.

—|—|—|—

The next morning was a shambles, teenagers rushing around while Molly yelled for them to be careful not to knock things down. Ron and Harry barely managed to get up in time to have breakfast.

Hermione remembered the gifts she had brought for them both, and when they had been received, the boys had then spent fifteen minute fawning over them; making them all even more tardy. But somehow, everyone managed to have their things ready by the designated leaving time. Arthur was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, eager to get going.

Hermione yawned, leaning against Ginny slightly as the two of the lagged behind, still weary and tired from waking up so early. "I thought he said it was only a short walk? It feels like we've been walking for ages."

"I don't know." Ginny shrugged, yawning as well. "Hey, we're meeting the Diggory's. I wonder if Cedric has gotten more handsome over the break. I doubt he could have, he was already gorgeous in the first place."

Now standing on her own, Hermione looked away; feeling suddenly uncomfortable at the mention of boys. Shrugging herself, she glanced at Ginny disinterestedly. "He's alright, I guess."

"Alright?" Ginny gave her a strange look. "You must have some problems with your eyesight, Hermione. He is probably the best looking bloke at Hogwarts. If you don't find him good-looking, who do you?"

"I dunno. I'm not that interested. Can we just drop it, Gin?" Hermione sighed, telling herself not to scowl. She didn't know why she was getting annoyed, but she just wanted to stop talking about boys for once. It wasn't like they world revolved around them.

"If that's what you want. . ." Ginny continued to watch Hermione oddly, looking almost inquisitive.

Hermione smiled at her, grateful that the younger redhead didn't pry. A loud, cheerful shout from up ahead alerted them to the fact that they had finally run into the Diggory's. "This is Amos Diggory everyone," Arthur introduced the older man, with dark stringy-hair and glasses, who was smiling warmly. "He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. This his son Cedric, I believe you all know him?"

Hermione glanced at the tall boy with distinctive features standing beside his slightly shorter father, smiling warmly like the man he was adjacent to. She recognised him as the Captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, and a prefect as well. She repected him for being a good student, but had never really bothered being smitten with his pretty-boy looks like most other girls were.

"Hi," Cedric rubbed the back of his head, blushing lightly at all the attention. Hermione rolled her eyes discreetly when she heard Ginny sigh in admiration next to her. Everyone said hi back, except Fred and George, who instead nodded at him.

"Wasn't a long walk, I hope." Amo's began chatting amicably with Arthur, and like most, gasped when it was made known who Harry was. After a little prideful rambling about Cedric's accomplishments, they all finally got ready to use to portkey; everyone only just managing to fit their fingers on the ratty old boot.

"Three. . . two. . ." Arthur counted down, one eye fixed on his watch. ". . . one!"

It was a surreal feeling—Hermione felt as though there was something tugging her from the inside of her stomach, behind her naval while the world around them spun and warped. After a few seconds of the disconcerting feeling, Arthur was yelling for them all to let go, and they did so—only to fall heavily onto the grass below, as Cedric, Arthur and Amos landed on their feet with a little more grace, smiling in amusement at everyone else who was getting up painfully from the ground.

After a little trouble finding their camp sight and setting up their two tents—one for the girls, and the other for the boys—they finally where inside. Hermione held in her gasp as she looked around. From outside, the tent looked as though it would fit three people at most—but like most magically adjusted objects, inside it was expanded to the size of a three bedroom flat, completely furnished with a bathroom and kitchen as well.

"We'll need a bit of water," Arthur peered into the old and dusty kettle in the kitchen. Looking at Ron, he instructed, "Why don't you, Harry and Hermione go get some water for us?" the balding redhead handed over the kettle and a couple of saucepans. "There rest of us will find some wood, and we'll camp like I've seen the muggles do."

"What?" Ron looked at his father in disbelief, "But we've got an oven, why do we have to—"

"Anti-muggle security, Ron!" Arthur cut him off, face shining with eagerness as he spoke. "Muggles cook with camp-fires. I've seen them. Now, go!"

"Damn muggles and their camp-fires," Ron was muttering irritably, scowling down at the kettle hanging limply in his hand. Hermione rolled her eyes behind him as the three of them continued to walk through the camp—Harry holding the map they have been given and instructing them where to go to find the water tap.

"Let your father have his fun," Hermione scolded, when Ron kicked at the ground in anger. "It's not often he gets to do things like this, and you know he loves anything muggle. Getting water isn't going to kill you."

"Whatever." Ron mumbled, going quiet. Hermione glanced around then, in silent awe as the mist that had been hovering around began to clear and the sheer amount of witches and wizards attending became visible. She had known there where other countries with magical people, but to see so many at the same time was almost overwhelming.

She was about to look over at Harry to ask again for directions, when a flash of familiar jonquil-coloured hair glinted in the distance. Narrowing her eyes to see better, and stepping forward slightly—suddenly the person walked around a tent and out of sight. Shaking her head, Hermione chided herself and quickly jogged forward to catch up with her friends.

When they arrived back at their tents, Hermione quickly retired to her and Ginny's shared one and took out her phone, reading another message she had received from Fleur.

_What is ma __chérie__ doing? I am painfully bored. My parents have dragged us to a big sporting event in which I have no interest in, and have decided for me to watch Gabrielle—who is being mischievous and running off any chance she gets. I fear I'm going to go grey prematurely. —Fleur_

Hermione flopped down onto her temporary bed and began to text back.

_Hmm, that's odd. I'm at a big sports event as well. Anyway, it's a bit hard to be bored with so many people here. Ginny—my friends younger sister—has been keeping me company while Harry and Ron get talking about sports. Most of their family is with us as well. They are all trying to cook over a camp fire at the moment, and I'm worried we're all going to end up sick with food poisoning. —Hermione_

The cell buzzed against her stomach as Fleur replied.

_Very odd. Ginny you say? You haven't found a replacement for me already have you? Ah, you are moving on without me! Shall I find another friend as well? To make us even of course ;). —Fleur_

Hermione pinched her thigh to distract herself from the surge of jealousy she felt of anyone having else being as close to Fleur as she was. It was an irrational feeling, and she was sure most friends weren't supposed to feel that way. But she wouldn't tread in such dangerous thoughts. She wasn't like _that_. Fleur wasn't anything more than a friend to her, was she?

No, no of course not. Nothing more, right? Hermione knew she wasn't a—a. . .

"Oi, 'Mione! We're leaving. If you don't hurry up we'll go without you!" Ron bellowed, peeking his head inside the tent.

"Okay, I'm coming!" she yelled, back standing up. Typing a quick text to Fleur, she sent it, before turning off her cell and following Ron outside.

_No, I could never replace you. I hope you don't replace me either. Your my best friend, even though I haven't known you long. Hey, I've go to go, but I'll talk to you later okay? Love you, xx—Hermione_

—|—|—|—

**Note:** Hogwarts, next stop! They won't be able to talk there, seeing as electrical devices don't work as Hogwarts, so communication will be stopped, for the time being—seeing as they can't send owls to each other. Hermione thinks Fleur is a muggle, and Fleur thinks Hermione's a muggle xD. Haha. Anyway, thanks for the lovely reviews—I hope this chapter was satisfactory.


	3. Chapter 3: Losing Touch

—**Fleur de Saison**—

**Author:** Hogwarts, here we come. TWT is announced, communication is now cut off between to two girls. This is really just a filler, honestly. The real arc of this story probably won't develop until Fleur arrives. The song I listened to while writing this was Freeze by Jordin Sparks—yeah, check it out. xD.

**Hermione/Fleur. Sum** — Life was hectic. Voldemort was lurking around the proverbial corner and the Triwizard Tournament was making everyone crazy. Hermione just wanted to get through the year alive; not fall in love with the beautiful Fleur Delacour, who she had thought she would never see again.

—|—|—|—

**#**_—Losing Touch: Chapter 3  
_

Hermione smiled slightly as she leant against the concrete column, watching the various wizards and wizards rushing around platform 9 3/4. Many where wheeling along large trolleys, with trunks and familiars in cages. Children too young to go to Hogwarts were shrieking and laughing as they ran around, driving their parents to distraction as they tried to organise the children that _were_ going to Hogwarts.

Looking over to her left, her eyes landed on Molly Weasley, who was tearfully chiding Fred and George and telling them to behave themselves, though her tone betrayed how much she would miss them along with their antics. Hermione was suddenly pulled into an embrace herself, and hugged the plump, red-haired woman back hesitantly. In that moment, she missed her own parents—her mothers protectiveness, and her fathers calm demeanour and obliviousness.

Everything was a whirl of motion and blur of colours, and soon Hermione found herself sitting in a cabin with Harry and Ron, glancing around and feeling slightly disorientated. "What a rush," she said, rubbing her temples. "It still feels like my head is spinning."

"I know what you mean," Harry pushed back the slightly long dark hair that had fallen into his eyes and obscured his vision. "It was worse than last year. Do people have to have such sharp elbows? I mean, really—I'm going to have bruises." he rubbed his side, wincing slightly as he did so.

"Yeah," Ron mumbled his accent distractedly, "What do you guys think Bill and Charlie were talking about? With the whole 'it's going to be and interesting year' stuff? Bagman wanted to tell us at the World Cup, but my own mother—"

"Shh," Hermione hissed as she strained to hear Malfoy's voice outside their compartments door.

". . . Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore—the man's such a Mudblood-lover—and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riff-raff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about he Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we do. . . ."

Hermione scowled, moving quietly to slide shut the door so she could block out his irritatingly pompous voice. Malfoy's self-importance was the last thing she wanted to hear in the morning. Sitting back down, the train ride passed relatively uneventfully—with her briefly explaining about how the magical schools hid themselves to her clueless best friends. Seamus, Dean and Neville paid them a visit, and Hermione buried herself into a book as they all began to talk Quidditch.

Turning a page, Hermione—to her credit, didn't jump when the cellphone in her pocket vibrated against her thigh. Unbeknownst to herself, a small smile immediately appeared on her face as she took out to device and read the newest message she had received.

_Bonjour, ma chèrie. I hope your train ride isn't too boring. I was just hoping to catch you before you made it too school. It's too bad cellphones and computers aren't allowed at your school during the week—I will miss talking to you, but I'm sure being in my last year I'll have plenty of exams to occupy me. Anyway, what are you doing right now? Other then riding the train. —Fleur_

Hermione ignored the odd looks she recieved from Neville and Seamus as she began typing on the phone's keypad. She knew Seamus was from a rather traditional magical family, as was Neville, so they most likely had never seen a cellphone in their lives. Dean was muggleborn like herself, so he would obviously know what it was, and Harry lived with his muggle family. Ron had merely become used to it's frequent presence and stopped questioning it, to her relief.

_Hey, :). Yeah, It is rather boring =/. Ron and Harry are talking sports with some of their friends, and I've been reading a book for school. I can't even stare out the window because it's such a dreary day, it would just end up making me feel depressed. How are you getting to school? Do you walk, bus, get dropped off? —Hermione_

A reply didn't come for a few minutes, and Hermione had just slipped the phone back into her pocket when it vibrated.

_I get dropped off. I go to a boarding school like yourself, and maman usually takes me there at the start of the year. It isn't too far from our home actually. Enough talk about school, how come you aren't sitting with your replacement for me? Genna was her name, non? :( —Fleur_

"Er—Hermione?" Seamus queried tentatively, glancing wearily down at the cell in her hands as she looked up at him with a piqued eyebrow. "Uh, what exactly is that thing you've got there. . .?" Neville looked at her too, at the mention of the mysterious gadget, his eyes dancing with curiosity.

Hermione held back a sigh of annoyance as she looked at him. There would be no point in trying to explain it, seeing as Seamus would just end up nodding blankly like Ron no matter what she said. "It's like sending a letter with an owl," she said, biting the inside of her lip as she paused, "Just minus the owl." _and the quill, ink and paper._

Seamus, like she had predicted, nodded at her blankly. Neville however, didn't even bother to pretend he understood what she meant, and continued to gaze at the slim, electronic device with puzzlement, looking utterly perplexed—as though he was questioning the meaning of life. Hermione resisted the urge to shake her head in defeat, and went back to using her cell.

_Ginny__, was the name of Ron's younger sister, if that's who your talking about. I bet your smirking right now. . . I see what your trying to do, Delacour, and I'm not falling for it. Your not sneaky enough to get me to admit to replacing you. ;) I'm just too quick for that. Looks like you'll have to try harder next time, yeah? lol. Oh and she's not sitting with us because she's with girls in her own year. —Hermione_

Hermione turned her phone off silent as she glanced slyly over at Seamus, Ron and Neville on the other side of the compartment—smiling mischievously. Like she had expected, when the loud sound of a pop song blared from the cell's speakers, all three jumped in fright—looking bewildered at the sudden noise. The hazel-eyed witch couldn't contain her amusement, and burst out in giggles, receiving glares from them all. Rolling her eyes at their sulky reactions, she looked down at the LCD screen.

_Désolé, mon coeur. I must go now. The headmistress is calling us to attention, and I'm afraid she would be rather displeased with her favourite student if she caught her texting underneath the dining table during her welcoming speech. I'll talk to you again next weekend, oui? Try not to miss me too much. Ah, and do tell __Genna__ to back off from what's mine ;D. —Amour, Fleur._

Hermione grinned broadly with amusement as the mental image of a blushing Fleur being reprimanded by an elderly headmistress popped into her head.

_Ha, no I don't think getting caught texting would be a good idea. I wonder who this Genna is that you speak of? I must look into that, really. I won't miss you. I will miss your banter though, your conversations are surprisingly intelligent for a blonde =P. I know you'll miss me as well. I guess I'll ttyl, then —Love, Hermione._

The rest of the train ride was filled with jokes and chatter. Malfoy made his presence known briefly with some vague words, before disappearing with his cronies cackling as they followed him away. After changing into their school robes, and getting off the Hogwarts Express, Hermione glanced with loathing at the overcast sky as she shivered.

A hundred or so horseless carriages stood waiting for them, and Hermione smiled with relief as she climbed into one with Harry and Ron—glad that the staff at Hogwarts had thought to enchant them so they were heated. Sitting in a freezing little box did _not_ sound appealing whatsoever.

—|—|—|—

Hermione ignored Ron's whining about the length of the Sorting and the state of his empty stomach as she found her eyes fixed on the vacant seat up at the staff table, the only usually reserved for Lupin, their previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. A flash of intense dislike surged through her veins as she glanced at Snape, who looked a oily and slimy as ever. If he hadn't made it known of Lupin's affliction, he would most likely still be here.

Turning back to look at Ron and Harry, Hermione smiled slightly as she caught Harry looking over to the left at Ravenclaw's table. Her keen eyes saw his gaze lingering on a girl in the year above them that she vaguely recognised as Cho Chang. A pretty girl, that appeared to have been of Asian decent, with dark almond-shaped eyes, and shining midnight-coloured hair.

Finally, the Sorting finished and Dumbledore announced for them to begin the feast. Hermione began to eat, absently tuning into the conversation Ron and Harry were having with Nearly Headless Nick about Peeves. She had just lifted her goblet to take a sip of pumpkin juice when she heard the ghost say something about how the poltergeist had been terrifying house-elves.

The goblet slipped from her hand and made an obnoxious clanging noise as it hit the table. Dark orange liquid was staining the table cloth, but Hermione paid it no mind as she gaped at Nearly Headless Nick, looking horror-struck. "There's house-elves here? Here at Hogwarts?" the words rushed from her mouth, conveying her disbelief.

"Of course," Nearly Headless Nick answered, looking slightly stunned at her unusual reaction to the information. "The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred, at least."

"I've never seen one!" Hermione retorted, still clinging to her disbelief.

"Well that's the mark of a good house-elf inn'it?" Ron mumbled around a mouthful of food, his words coming out slightly garbled. Hermione's nose wrinkled in disgust at the horrible show of etiquette. She had gotten used to Fleur's sophisticated and impeccable eating habits—to be exposed to Ron at his best so abruptly was unappealing, to say the least.

"They get pensions don't they?" she looked at Nearly Headless Nick imploringly, "And—and sick leave and everything? They're paid, at least? Aren't they?"

Chortling, Nearly Headless Nick gave an an bemused look, "Pensions and sick leave?" he shook his head, smiling in amusement, "House-elves don't want pensions and sick leave!"

Hermione felt like she was going to be sick. Looking down at the food that had been put onto her plate, bile churned in her stomach at the thought of how it came to be. Determined and almost angry, she spoke. "Slave labour—slave labour is what this is. I refuse to play a part in it. It's inhumane!"

Ron looked at her in astonishment. "Don't act 'o barmy 'Er—My—Nee. . . starving yourself 'on't 'elp the bloody 'ous-elves!"

He continued to try and convince her to eat, but after receiving a glare that rivalled McGonagall's, he resigned with defeat. Dumbledore got up again after everyone had finished their meals and made the usual announcements. It was only when he mentioned the inter-house Quidditch Cup wouldn't be held this year that everyone broke out in whispers, people looking horrified at the prospect. Even more whispers broke out, however, when he mentioned something else replacing it.

"This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy—but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—"

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open, and scraggly—fearsome looked man with a prosthetic leg limped through, and long black staff in his hands and a bright magical eye rolling around in it's leather and metal socket.

His face was like something out of a horror film. In muggle movies, Hermione had seen actors with make up and props artificially making them look horrendous, but every scar and mark on this man's grizzled face looked to be real. It was a disgusting sight, and Hermione couldn't help but be equal parts appalled and curious to how it came to be.

The stranger hobbled down the silent hall, his magical eye darting around ever which way. Once he reached the staff table, he exchanged what seemed to be a friendly greeting with Dumbledore and proceed to take his seat—the Defense Against the Dark Arts space, reserved for only staff of Hogwarts. It all clicked into place, then; that he must be the newest DADA professor.

After a brief introduction of the new arrival 'Professor Moody'—who Ron seemed to recognise as a fellow called Mad-Eye Moody that Arthur had spoke about a couple of days ago back at the burrow. Dumbledore swiftly got back into the swing of things, continuing on as though tension in the room from Mad-Eye Moody's presence was non-existent.

"As I was saying," he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "We are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

There was a moment of complete and utter silence, before Fred Weasley jumped out his seat, yelling loudly. "Your _joking_!"

Practically everyone in the room laughed at the exclamation, and the previous tension evaporated and instead the room descended into another round of excited whispers—that was, until Dumbledore called them all to attention once again.

"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar. . ."

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.

"Er - but maybe this is not the time.. . no. . ." said Dumbledore, "Where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament. . . well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely."

"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities - until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

Hermione was once again equal portions disgusted and intrigued, much like she had been when it came to Moody's disfigured features. "Death toll?" she muttered with slight anxiety, frowning as she saw no one else seemed to share her sentiments—most were once again whispering amongst themselves, no doubt about how they planned to enter. Flickering a glance over to Harry and Ron, she sighed despairingly when they both seemed to be enthralled in what Dumbledore was saying.

"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

Impartial judge? Hermione mused to herself, a thoughtful expression appearing on her face. How could anyone be an impartial judge? Ludo Bagman, perhaps? Was it even possible for a human to be completely unbiased? These thoughts where however cut short when Fred began enthusiastically rambling about how he himself was going to enter—only for his hopes to be shot down when Dumbledore made it known that they would be enforcing an age restriction, allowing only those over seventeen to enter. Predictably, many where upset at these turns of events; particularly heo twins, who in Hermione's opinion, had their signature scheming expressions on their identical faces.

After Dumbledore finished speaking and told them to go to bed, it took Hermione a fair bit of prodding before she could usher her friends out of the Great Hall. When she finally made it to her dorm room, she ignored Lavender and Pavarti's gossiping and quickly got dressed and ready for bed—falling almost instantly asleep when she crawled beneath the covers.

—|—|—|—

**Note:** This is all pretty in-cannon so far, but it will take it's own path when the other schools arrive—which will be in the next chapter. Squee; coming up is the Hermione/Fleur meeting. I know a few reviewers wanted for me to have them meet at the World Cup, but I had already had this half-written and didn't want to start over again :(. Sorry if that's a disappointment to anyone. Ah, and there is a few extracts from the Goblet of Fire in here—basically just Dumbledore's speech and a few of Draco's lines.

Review, yes?

Oh, and p.s. I don't own Harry Potter—I forgot to put that in my other chapters, and I'm too lazy to change it all now, so I hope this is enough.


	4. Chapter 4: When I Fell In Love

—**Fleur de Saison**—

**Author:** They meet again, finally! This chapter is Fleur's POV. The next one will be Hermione's, and it will have substantially more enlightening monologue when it comes to their lack of communication and a few paragraphs about what had happened during the few weeks that had already passed. I hope you enjoyed this though, oh and theirs a bit of Gabrielle POV too. xD Oh, for this chapter Don't Stop by Innerpartysystem was blaring in my ears. I love that song.

**Hermione/Fleur. Sum** — Life was hectic. Voldemort was lurking around the proverbial corner and the Triwizard Tournament was making everyone crazy. Hermione just wanted to get through the year alive; not fall in love with the beautiful Fleur Delacour, who she had thought she would never see again.

—|—|—|—

**#**_—When I Fell In Love: Chapter 4  
_

Fleur smiled weakly at Angelica, a Veela like herself—though, the other girl was more human. Angelica and she had bonded years ago, when they both reached the peak of puberty; when their heritage had made itself known, along with their thrall. Alienated by the girls that had previously been their friends, and idolised by the boys, they found the occasional solace in each others presence—enjoying the fact they had another female their age that didn't glare at them with thrall induced jealousy.

"Alors, allez-vous entrer?" Angelica asked, fiddling with a curl of her dark brown hair, flickering a questioning glance at Fleur. (_So, are you going to enter?_)

Fleur leaned back against the grass, her elbows supporting her as she did so. She sighed, playing dumb. "Entrez quoi?" (_Enter what?_)

Angelic ruffled her dark hair in irritation, giving Fleur an annoyed scowl. "Le Tournoi des Trois Sorciers, quoi d'autre? Vous ne pouvez pas me tromper avec votre façade individuelle, Fleur. Je vous ai connu beaucoup trop long." (_The Triwizard Tournament, what else? You can't fool me with your detached façade, Fleur. I've known you much too long._)

Fleur matched Angelica's scowl with a thunderous, brooding one of her own. Azure-eyes were narrow with bitterness, her lips curled into a sneer as she spoke. "Pourquoi avez-vous même la peine de demander? Je suis étudiant le plus prisé Madame Maxime. Bien sûr, je vais à ce concours stupide." (_Why did you even bother asking? I am Madame Maxime's most prized student. Of course I am going to that stupid competition.)_

She softened her expression when she caught the hurt that flashed in Angelica's eyes at the harsh answer. The girl had always been fragile. "Désolé pour claquer. J'ai été de mauvaise humeur depuis l'école a commencé. . . Moi, je trouve mon cœur." (_Sorry for snapping. I've been in a bad mood since school started. . . I–I found my heart._)

Angelica looked equal parts excited and confused. "Ne devriez-vous être dans une meilleure humeur, alors? Qui sont-ils? Quel est leur nom?" (_Shouldn't you be in a better mood then? Who are they? What is their name?_)

Fleur closed her eyes, fighting back frustrated and homesick tears. "Je suis de mauvaise humeur parce qu'ils vivent si loin. Angleterre, en fait. Hermione, c'est son nom. . . J'ai parsemé de cours de l'été. En outre, elle est un Moldu. . . et non pas au courant de ma vraie nature, magiques ou Vélane." (_I am in a bad mood because they live so far away. England, in fact. Hermione, is her name. . . I met her over the summer. Also, she is a muggle. . . and not aware of my true nature, magical or Veela._)

Sympathy shone through Agelica's light green eyes. "Ah, je vois. . . Je suis désolé il n'y a rien que je puisse faire. Pourquoi n'avez-vous pas dit? T-elle répondre à votre sentiment?" (_Ah, I see. . . I am sorry there is nothing I can do. Why haven't you told her? Does she reciprocate your feelings?_)

Fleur sat forward, crossing her legs. Azure eyes lit with fire. "C'est ce qui est très frustrant! Je ne peux pas le dire! Elle envoie tous ces signaux mixtes. Si seulement je pouvais lire dans ses émotions comme tout le monde. . . il rendrait les choses tellement plus facile." (_That's what's so frustrating! I can't tell! She sends all these mixed signals. If only I could read her emotions like everyone else's. . . it would make things so much easier._)

"Mais c'est le point, n'est-ce pas? Elle ne serait pas ton coeur si elle était comme tout le monde. Elle n'est pas influencée par l'un de vos sang Vélane. Je me souviens de ta grand-mère nous raconte l'histoire. A propos de la façon dont il ya des siècles la première Vélane tombé en amour avec un homme, qui ne l'aimait pour sa beauté. Elle était si furieuse quand elle a découvert que son amour était fausse, qu'elle jura de ne jamais pour quelqu'un d'autre à se sentir le déchirement qu'elle avait vécu. Ainsi, elle enchante notre sang pour que notre unique destinée ne relève pas de notre esclave." (_But that's the point, isn't it? She wouldn't be your heart if she was like everyone else. She isn't influenced by any of your Veela blood. I remember your grandmother telling us the story. About how centuries ago the first Veela fell in love with a man, who only loved her for her beauty. She was so furious when she found out that his love was false, that she swore never for anyone else to feel the heartbreak she had experienced. So she enchanted our blood so that our destined one didn't fall under our thrall.)_

Fleur looked down at her lap, speaking lowly. "Je sais, mais cela ne change pas le fait qu'elle pourrait ne pas ressentir la même chose pour moi. Vous avez oublié de mentionner l'endroit où, si nous ne sommes pas complètement lien avec notre destinée d'un an après la réunion, on meurt d'un cœur brisé. Je ne pourrais jamais la revoir, Angelica. C'est faire tourner mes entrailles. Tout le monde dit toujours l'amour est un sentiment magnifique, mais jusqu'ici, tout ce que j'ai ressenti est malade et faible. Comme je suis hors de contrôle." (_I know that, but it doesn't change the fact that she might not feel the same for me. You forgot to mention the part where if we don't completely bond with our destined a year after meeting, we die of a broken heart. I might never see her again, Angelica. It's making my insides twist. Everyone always says love is a beautiful feeling, but so far all I've felt is sick and weak. Like I'm spinning out of control._)

Angelic got to her feet, and stared at Fleur's dejected face with a level gaze. "Avec l'amour vient la douleur, Fleur. Pouvez-vous honnêtement dire que vous pensez que vous n'auriez jamais sentir de cette façon pour quelqu'un d'autre? Comment vous sentez-vous en sa présence? Est-ce votre cœur pour essayer de battre c'est de sortir de votre poitrine? Votre Tingle peau? Fleur, jamais tout le temps que je te connais, je n'ai jamais vu quelqu'un vous laissez effet vous si profondément. Ne pas le jeter à cause de l'insécurité petits. Il pourrait ruiner votre vie, littéralement." (_With love comes pain, Fleur. Can you honestly say you think you would ever feel this way for anyone else? How do you feel in her presence? Does your heart try to beat it's way out of your chest? Does your skin tingle? Fleur, never in all the time I've known you, have I ever seen you let someone effect you so deeply. Don't throw it away because of petty insecurities. It could ruin your life, literally._)

Fleur chuckled throatily, the lost look on her features disappearing. "Quand avez-vous devenu si sage dans les chemins de l'amour, Angélique?" (_When did you become so wise in the ways of love, Angelica?_)

The dark-haired girl smiled more genuinely than Fleur had ever seen before. "Quand je suis tombé en amour." (_When I fell in love._)

Smiling, with tear-glazed eyes; Fleur watched Angelica walk away, a spring in the other girls step that she previously hadn't noticed. Suddenly, everything became clear. Fleur would find Hermione again, no matter what, and she _would_ make the other girl fall in love with her. Resolved, she got to her feet and wandered back to Beauxbaton palace. She needed to pack for the upcoming trip to Hogwarts—they were leaving in three days.

—|—|—|—

Gabrielle Delacour was bored. Sitting still for an hour wasn't her idea of fun, and her sister was watching her like a hawk. Sharp, unflinching azure-eyes fixed on her as she fidgeted and shifted in her seat; trying her best to resist the urge to just let loose and cause her favourite thing.

_Mayhem. . . Ah, how I miss you my chaotic little friend._

Slyly, eyes a shade darker than her sisters, rolled to the side; fixing on Fleur—who for a split second began gazing out the window of Beauxbaton's massive powder-blue carriage, drawn by twelve giant winged Abraxan horses. Smirking michieviously to herself, Gabrielle took her only chance to escape, launching out of her seat and sprinting to the door of their shared bedroom.

High-pitched giggles bubbled from her throat as she pushed passed affronted students, all dressed in the same powder-blue coloured uniforms as the carriage. Faint yelling could be heard from the direction behind her, Fleur's voice being a prominent voice in the mix. Suddenly, the carriage began to tip and swerve; leaving Gabrielle to lean against one of the walls for support, so she didn't crash to the ground from the abrupt unbalance.

"Tu reviens ici en ce moment, Gabrielle! Ou je ferai en sorte d'avoir quelqu'un à vous faire suivre chaque minute de chaque jour pour le reste de l'année!" The youngest Delacour heard her sisters voice resound angrily from further down the hall. (_You come back here right now, Gabrielle! Or I'll make sure to have someone monitoring you every minute of every day for the rest of the year!_)

Determined not to be caught, Gabrielle pushed off from the wall with wobbly legs and began jogging down the hall, occassionally steadying herself when the carrige took a particularly sharp turn or dive. Chancing a glance over her shoulder as she ran, Gabrielle didn't see the tall, imposing woman who was directly in her path until in was too late; dazed, confused and sprawled on the corridor's floor, she gazed fearfully up at the last person she wanted to run into.

"Madame Maxime, heh. . . 'ow lovely to see you on zis fine evening." she laughed nervously, cursing every God and Goddess she could think of. How could they abandon her like this? Madame Maxime was known for her strict, exacting ways. Gabrielle herself had only met the giant woman once, but that one time had been enough to scare the living daylights out of her.

"Gabrielle Delacour, eezn't eet?" Large, dark eyes fixed on her from down a large, boney looking nose. Gabrielle shuddered slightly under the intense, disapproving look she was being given and tried to think of a way to get out of her current predicament. A glint of sunlight coming through a nearby window caused a plan to spark in her mind.

"Oui, that 'ez I." she slowly got to her feet, acting the bashful nine year old she was supposed to be. Exaggerating her movements, she gasped and flickered her eyes over to the window. With prime acting skills, she easily fooled the tall Headmistress. "Sacrebleu, what is that!"

"Hmm? What is it?" as Madame Maxime turned to see what Gabrielle was gesturing to, the latter took the oppurtunity to dart away, only to find herself grabbed from behind by her older sister.

"I do not think 'zo, Gabrielle Delacour."

An hour later, Fleur was sitting beside a distgruntled and sulky Garbrielle; who was stabbing at the greasy, English food in an act of childish petulance. Rolling her eyes, Fleur glanced around the Great Hall. Many banners for different houses were strewn about. Robes with trims of either blue, red, green or yellow where split into four seperate groups. The table the Beauxbaton student's were currently occuping where called Ravenclaw, or something like that; they where the blue and bronze house.

From what Fleur had gathered, the red and gold house were Gryffindor, the green and silver were Slytherin, and the yellow and black where Hufflepuff; and each house was based on some sort of animal, be it a bird, a snake, a Griffin, or a badger. Fleur found this odd, really. How did animals have anything to do with school 'houses'?

A loud shout coming from Gabrielle startled her out of her nonsequencial musings. Azure-eyes widened in shock and bewilderment as she saw her sister climbing on to the table, fully intending to vault over everyone and their food to get to her goal. However, what had frozen Fleur in place was the name that came from her baby sisters lips.

"It's _'Ermione_, Fleur!"

Jumping from her seat, Fleur ignored the various eyes on her as she ran after Gabrielle who was quickly running towards the table on the opposite side of the room. Boy's turned red as she jogged past, and girls glowered; but Fleur payed them no heed—as they all faded away into a blur of shape and colour as she met dark, hazel-eyes; eyes she would recognize anywhere—eyes that made her heart stutter and pound with a single glance.

Fleur froze in place as their eyes fixed on each other. Gabrielle was clinging to Hermione's waist, and speaking rapidly and barely understandable French—while the latter gazed disbelievingly at Fleur, not speaking—looking completely and utterly speechless; exactly how the jonquil-haired witch felt.

Managing to gather a thred of composure, Fleur stepped forward numbly; soft almost inaudible words spilling from her mouth. "_Mon coeur_?—is—is 'zhat really you? Your a witch too?"

The redheaded boy sitting at the table behind where Hermione was standing turned a dangerous shade of punce at the sound of Fleur's lilting voice, while the bespectacled, emerald-eyed one gazed between Hermione and the unknown girl; a quizical look on his face. A female redhead, who had a resemblance to the purple boy, glarred daggers at the newcomers.

"F-Fleur—?" suddenly, Fleur was pulled into a feirce, almost painfully tight embrace as nearly intelligible words rushed from Hermione's mouth. "I can't believe this. This is a dream isn't it? Your not actually at Hogwarts, are you? Merlin, what are the chances that the person I meet in France turns out to be magical as well? This is amazing!—and your going to be here for the rest of the year too—!"

A small foot crushing her own alerted Fleur to the fact Gabrielle was still there. "Fleur, I want to talk to 'Ermione! I saw her _first_!"

"Gabrielle!" the scolding came not from Fleur's mouth, but from Hermione's instead. "Stop being so horrible to your sister. Your acting like a spoilt little child. I thought better of you, or was my impression mistaken back in France?"

Gabrielle looked suffieciently ashamed. "But—"

Hermione cut the nine-year-old off with a pointedly raised eyebrow, and Fleur couldn't help but let her features soften at the display. Hermione hadn't changed at all—it was relieving. Now the shock of Hermione's magical status had begun to wear off, the jonquil-haired Veela became uncomfortably aware of all the eyes now resting on the three of them and the odd scene they were making in the middle of the Hall.

"Should we take this somewhere more private, oui?" Fleur asked, regretfully detangling herself from Hermione's warm, slender arms and grabbing her hand instead. "All the voyer's are beggining to bozer' me."

It seemed to mute shock that had befalled the hall of students had started wearing off as well, and loud whispers broke out. Fleur distinctively heard Hermione's name repeatedly from various mouths as people watched the three of them walk past. She was sure that tomorrow there would be many outlandish rumours floating about.

However, with Hermione's small, tanned hand firmly grasped in her own ivory one; Fleur couldn't help but feel utterly content—no matter what was to come.

—|—|—|—

**Note:** Does anyone else think Gabrielle is completely adorable? Well I do, anyway. I love portraying her as this mischivious little trouble maker, haha—I don't know why, though. Please review, yes?

Oh, and I know sacrebleu isn't really used any more; but honestly, I couldn't resist xD.


	5. Chapter 5: We Are The Champion's

—**Fleur de Saison**—

**Author:** Champion's are announced. Tension's run high. Hermione begins to question things, and Harry is upset with Ron. Fleur just wants to be close to her destined one, but expectations are damaging things for her and Hermione's developing relationship.

**Hermione/Fleur. Sum** — Life was hectic. Voldemort was lurking around the proverbial corner and the Triwizard Tournament was making everyone crazy. Hermione just wanted to get through the year alive; not fall in love with the beautiful Fleur Delacour, who she had thought she would never see again.

—|—|—|—

**#**_—We Are The Champions: Chapter 5_

To say Fleur and Gabrielle's unexpected appearance at Hogwarts had been a surprise to Hermione would be a colossal understatement. It had been as though the oxygen had rushed abruptly from her lungs, leaving her light headed and confused to what exactly was going on. Then, just as suddenly; excitement and a sort of relief had washed over her—and she had then been abruptly embracing the older, French witch with everything she had—not very mindful of the younger Delacour still fixed to her waist.

Numerous eyes had been resolutely locked on the odd trio. Whispers behind hands, lingering glances and sneers, frowns and the odd perverted leer. Hermione's kept her faux-oblivious façade as she dragged the Delacour sisters down the aisle, ignoring the quizzical, bewildered glances she had been receiving from the Weasley's and Harry.

It had been a few weeks since she had last had contact with Fleur—having foolishly left her cellphone charger at the Weasley's, and lacking any other form of communication, it had been a mute point; also, there seemed to be no electrical plugs in Hogwarts whatsoever. Plus, the brunette had been hard pressed to find much time to herself, anyway.

What with the school year just beginning, coupled with Ron and Harry's shenanigans, and Mad-Eye Moody's rather controversial teaching methods and punishment (ferret Malfoy, sprung to mind—to Hermione's amusement). She had also been consumed with the S.P.E.W badges she had been creating and selling—_unsuccessfully_—along with the hats and gloves she had been attempting to knit for the house-elves. And, not to forget, there was the matter Harry's stinging scar, and Sirus wanting to come back that had been bothering her since Harry mentioned it.

Fleur, however, for some unknown reason, had been stubbornly plaguing her mind over that time. Hermione had even, on a few separate occasions, pondered throwing caution to the wind and writing to the other girl by owl—but the fact that she would somehow have to explain how she taught to owl to fly across the channel and all the way to France quickly dissuaded her from proceeding with it.

Even though Fleur was a witch and she was currently at Hogwarts, Hermione couldn't help but feel as though the other girl seemed more distant, unobtainable; aloof, than she had been in France. They weren't on equal footing any more. Hermione was the bookish, bossy little fourth-year, recognised for her intelligence and relationship with the Boy-Who-Lived, while Fleur was a gorgeous, older, exchange student that Hermione had noticed seemed to garner more attention than most, merely by walking into the room.

It had been only a day since their abrupt, unusual reunion—and since then the French witch had already gained notable group of admirer's, which that seemed to grow even lager every day—again, much to Hermione's chagrin, even if she didn't know why she hated they way boys eye's lingered on Fleur's skin, or her legs in those short, blue skirts; showing just enough skin to tease the senses—

Pinching the skin of her forearm through her thin, black robes, Hermione tried to concentrate on the book she was currently trying to read. Presently, she was sitting nonchalantly on the stands that had been erected in the Great Hall, where most student's had been spending their lunch breaks watching the Goblet of Fire, most cheering when someone managed to gather up the courage to enter.

Harry and Ron were sitting either side of her, the latter sitting on the edge of his seat; looking as though he would throw caution to the wind and ignore Dumbledore's age line and enter his name anyway, at any moment. Harry, to Hermione's relief, didn't appear to be _as_ obsessed as Ron was with the Triwizard Tournament, but it was surely close. Honestly, Hermione was rather thankful Dumbledore had imposed the age restriction. She didn't think she could handle it if either one of them ended up being a Champion.

The room abruptly went silent, and Hermione looked up curiously from her Arithmancy text book only to find her own mouth gaping open; much like the rest of the Great Hall's occupants. Fleur was standing there, in her usual Beauxbaton school uniform. By her side was an anxious and excited looking Gabrielle. Behind the taller of the two was a line of similarly dressed students, both male and female.

A scowl replaced Hermione's stunned expression, when her eyes caught sight of a delicately folded peice of paper in Fleur's left hand. Standing, Hermione slammed the book she had been reading down on to the bench and stalked over to a too-calm Fleur, who seemed to tense just slightly as Hermione became increasingly closer.

"Fleur," she hissed, grabbing the older girls arm and pulling her slightly out of sight of prying eyes and out of the range of eavesdroppers—really, she was getting fed up with the constant _watching_, that everyone seemed to do when she even so much as breathed Fleur's name. "What do you think your doing? Do you have any idea how dangerous this tournament is? You could _die_!"

"Of course I do." Fleur answered back, a soft frown tugging insistently at her lips. "But I must at least enter. It was the whole purpose of me coming here. I 'ave no doubt Madame Maxime expects me to get chosen, and most likely 'ez assuming I will win." The explanation didn't at all set Hermione at ease.

"That's the stupidest reason for entering I've ever had the displeasure of hearing," Hermione shook her head, scowling with a mix of irritation and concern. "Fleur, you can't take part in such a dangerous game just for expectations! You might not even come out of it alive." she tried to quell the trembling in her voice, but to no avail.

The French-girl look pained as she shook her head. "I 'ave no choice, mon coeur. I must enter." and without hesitation, Fleur stepped past Hermione and walked briskly over to the fiery Goblet, gracefully throwing her parchment into the blue flames. Applause, cheers and various wolf-whistles broke out amongst the crowd, but Hermione merely shook her head, grabbed her Arithmancy book and stomped from the room.

Though, not before she sent Fleur a furious glare, conveying the utter disappointment and disbelief she felt at the tall, azure-eyed witches actions.

—|—|—|—

Hermione pretended not to have noticed the weary looks she was being shot from her friends as she stabbed angrily at her meal—yes, she _had_ come to the conclusion that not eating wouldn't stop the house-elves slave labour, much to Ron's mirth—it had been twenty four hours since the Goblet of Fire had been announced as the 'impartial judge', and tonight was the night that the Champion's would finally be selected. Hermione, naturally wasn't in a good mood, and the fact that Fleur was recklessly endangering herself for no discernible reason, added to her no-so-pent up anger.

Diligently, she continued to glower down at the French cuisine on her plate, ignoring the bright blue eyes across the room that were persistently trying to catch her own. Hemione was still much to furious to even _think_ of speaking to Fleur right now. She just couldn't understand how the older girl could be so foolish as to enter into such a perilous competition—it was driving her mad!

Hermione's attention was abruptly switched from her plate to Dumbledore when the wizened, older wizard began speaking. Crouch and Bagman where occupying the staff table, like they had been for the past few days. In front of them all, standing proudly was the Goblet of Fire. It seemed, as Dumbledore called the Hall to attention, that every single person held their breath in anticipation.

"Well, the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber," he indicated the door behind the staff table ". . . where they will be receiving their first instructions."

With a great, almost melodramatic—in Hermione's opinion—sweep of his arm, all the candles except the ones in the carved pumpkins all snuffed out instantaneously, leaving everyone shrouded in semi-darkness. A few, silent seconds ticked by and then suddenly the flames turned a violent red, sparks flying from the large Goblet. A tongue of flame shot from the enchanted object; and a charred piece of parchment fluttered down, and straight into Dumbledore's hands.

Hermione's whole body felt taught as the headmaster took a breath to prepare himself to speak. "The Champion for Durmstrang will be. . ." a pause, "Viktor Krum!"

"No surprises there!" yelled Ron as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Hermione rolled her eyes at him, and watched idly as Viktor Krum rose from the Slytherin table and slouched up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and then disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

The headmaster of Durmstrang; Kakaroff, gave a booming, smug congratulations that was so loud, it could even be heard over all the applause. The clapping soon died down, and once again everyone focused their attention back on the Goblet, which turned red seconds later. Hermione, once again, felt her whole body go taut, and her stomach began to churn uncomfortably.

A second piece of paper shot from the Goblet, "The Champion for Beauxbatons," Hermione felt like something was trembling inside her chest—making it even _more_ difficult to breathe. ". . . is Fleur Delacour!"

Hermione couldn't even gasp as she found her eyes locked on Fleur; who with grace, stood from her seat at the Ravenclaw table and walked—_floated_—towards the chambers, just like Krum had. However, just before she entered; azure-eyes met Hermione's panicked hazel. The moment seemed to last forever, but was only really a matter of seconds, and soon enough Fleur exited the room completely.

The loud sound of her blood rushing in her ears was only penetrated by the sound of loud enthusiastic applause and cheers. Hermione mechanically joined with the clapping, and with the way Cedric walked into the same chamber as Fleur, deducted he had been the one chosen to be Hogwarts Champions. Opposite her, she could hear Ron muttering 'stupid, git of a pretty boy' under his breath—yet, she couldn't bring herself to reprimand him, or even deliver a scolding glance.

Unfortunately for Hermione, she suffered another shock when Harry's name was called.

—|—|—|—

"Honestly, Harry. . ." Hermione's wild-hair swayed as she shook her head side to side in exasperation. "You shouldn't try to ponder the ways of Ronald's twisted, knut-sized mind. He's being a git, and I bet he knows that—but is just too proud to admit it. Give him time, he'll eventually get over himself."

"Yeah, I agree he's being a real prat. _But_ that doesn't change the fact I'm angry at him." Harry clenched his fist and glared down at the library table before him. "I mean, I can see why he would be jealous, but I didn't ask for this. He's _supposed_ to be my best mate." the green-eyed boy looked slightly lost. "Isn't he supposed to support me when things like this happen?"

"Tch," Hermione scoffed, grinning just slightly. "Since when had Ron ever done something he's _supposed_ to? You are both best friends, alright? Don't let some silly misunderstanding ruin that for you."

"Like you would know, Hermione." Harry retorted sharply, "You're having some best friend troubles of your own aren't you? You and that Veela girl." he paused, scowling. "When were you going to tell us about her anyway? You didn't even introduce me to her, and guessing by how delighted you were to see her when Beauxbaton's arrived, it seems like you two are pretty close, or _were_ close, I should say."

"Don't take out your anger with Ron on _me_, Harry." Hermione glared at him, irritably snapping the book she had been flicking through shut; with a loud clap. "I haven't told you about her because I knew exactly how Ron would react. He would have demanded to see proof, and when he did, moon over her like the over hormonal teenage boy he is. And for the last time," she gritted out, "Fleur is not a _Veela_."

"Yeah, he's a bloody moron is what he is." Hermione rolled her eyes at the sulky, immature response; getting irritated at the way Harry completely ignored what she had actually said.

"You are both as bad as each other!" she stood from the study table with a flourish, ignoring the glower she was being shot by the librarian. "I'm not speaking to either of you until you both grow up a little and act your age."

"That's rich, coming from you!" she heard Harry call after her, as the librarian changed the direction of her death glare to him. Hermione felt her rage mounting higher at his next words. "Why don't your take your own advice for once and stop being such a hypocrite!"

"SHH!" Mrs. Pince hissed at them, still scowling from behind her counter.

Hermione ignored the aged librarian's warning. "Shut up! It's a completely different situation!" she yelled back at him, furious expression on her face as she whipped around and stormed out of the library doors; only to walk straight into the rather shocked, topic of their conversation.

"Uh," she stuttered, expression flickering between once of concern and forced disinterest. "Are you okay?" Hermione half-reluctantly held out a hand for the French Champion, and helped the lithe female to her feet.

"Bien, merci." Fleur muttered, gazing right into her eyes, while brushing imaginary lint from her silk, blue Beauxbaton's uniform. "I 'appened to be just looking for you 'Ermione, it is fortunate I ran into you," she chuckled, a husky note to the sound; sending shivers down Hermione's spine, for reason's unknown to herself. ". . . no pun intended." (_Fine, thanks_)

Goosebumps rising on the skin of her arms, Hermione hesitated for a moment before shaking her head in the negative. "I'm still mad at you Fleur," she brushed past the older girl, who was sporting a crestfallen expression. The younger witch faltered slightly, giving a sigh. ". . . but I'll come around eventually, okay? I just need some time to think."

". . . Oui," Fleur conceded, swallowing. "I will wait for you, 'Ermione. Not matter 'ow long. I assure you, I will always be here."

Hermione didn't look back as she continued to walk, and even though she had heard what the azure-eyed girl had said—she still missed the hidden meaning within Fleur's words. After navigating through the hallways, still angry and confused; Hermione ended up climbing the spiral staircase leading to the astronomy tower. After a rather long, drawn out contemplation of the odd feelings she was developing for the blonde Beauxbaton, she came to a conclusion; one she wasn't pleased to accept.

She liked Fleur, _more_ than a friend. Not enough to be love, but it was more than she had felt for any one else; and that was what frightened her the most.

It wasn't easy coming to terms with the fact you were homosexual, Hermione mused, as she continued to gaze out over the vast, beautiful grounds of Hogwarts. For some reason, though, the fact that she was a lesbian didn't come as too much of a surprise. Hermione had never really found herself that attracted to any boys, nor was she really interested in gossiping about them. She just hoped the realisation of her affections wouldn't damage her and Fleur's relationship more than her harsh behaviour had done already.

—|—|—|—

**Note:** Hmm, Hermione is finally figuring it out. I hope the way I'm portraying her emotion's well. I don't believe I'm too good with it, but I guess practice makes perfect, eh? I hope no one is too peeved about the Hermione-Harry argument—but I think that's pretty in-cannon. I mean, Harry has a tendency to snap at his friends when he is confused about something or under emotional stress. Plus, Hermione is beginning to realize her _like_ for Fleur, so she would be rather frustrated and feeling pretty unbalanced as well—not a good combination. Ron? We will see more him later, along with Ginny.

Oh, about the conversations in French—I'm still not sure what to do about that, as I'm reluctant to take it out and change it all around. (School, work; I don't have much time for editing on my fics, really.) Plus, I honestly find it to be a beautiful language—but I can see why it would be rather bothersome for people who don't understand a word of it. Just tell me in review's what you would rather me do about it.

A) Have all French conversations like this: "_Hello, how are you?_"

B) Keep it the same.

C) Something other. (Suggestions?)

Anyway. Review, yes?


	6. Chapter 6: Instinct

—**Fleur de Saison**—

**Author:** Fleur plays a prank of Gabrielle. Hermione's teeth get a bit enlarged. Snape makes his debut. Rita Skeeter makes an appearance. Madame Maxime isn't happy. Again, not much plot here, haha. I hope it's entertaining enough, though. Check out 30 Minutes by t.A.T.u xD. A brilliant song.

**Hermione/Fleur. Sum** — Life was hectic. Voldemort was lurking around the proverbial corner and the Triwizard Tournament was making everyone crazy. Hermione just wanted to get through the year alive; not fall in love with the beautiful Fleur Delacour, who she had thought she would never see again.

—|—|—|—

**#**_—Instinct: Chapter 6_

Sunlight filtered through the light, blue curtains of Fleur's temporary bedroom window; beam directly slithering across Fleur's porcelain features. Nose twitching with annoyance, eyelids blinked open slowly—only to snap abruptly shut at the burning the harsh light caused to the teenagers sensitive retinas

Fleur suddenly wanted the dreary, overcast weather back. England really wasn't so bad when it was raining. . .

Scoffing—a rather unladylike habit she had, that played on Madame Olympe's nerves to no end—sardonically at her thoughts, Fleur sat up in the bed; light cream sheets falling to pool around her hips as she rubbed sleepily at her eyes and yawned. Ruffling her permanently straight and silky flaxen locks, the lithe witch got out of her comfortable, inviting bed and padded along the varnished wooden floors.

Shivering at the morning cold, she cursed England—something else that was beginning to become a habit. Closing the bathroom behind her, Fleur—with narrowed, stinging eyes—set to brushing her teeth and having a shower. When finished, she exited in only a towel and immediately snatched her wand from her bedside table to cast a warming charm on the room.

Flickering a glance over at the still peacefully sleeping Gabrielle, curled adorably around her pillow and lightly snoring, the elder Delacour dropped her towel and swiftly got dressed in her school uniform. Hair fixed in a high pony-tail, she adorned her blue hat, before smirking over at the blissful Gabrielle.

Wand in hand and a mischievous smirk pulling at her pouted-lips, Fleur tiptoed over to her sisters sleeping form and muttered a small conjuring spell. Freezing, clear water poured from the tip of the long white stick, and splashed over Gabrielles face—shocking the small blonde awake.

"Wakey-wakey, Ga-bri-elle." the words were sung from her mouth, as the mischievous smirk transformed into a smug one. Fleur jumped backwards reflexively as Gabrielle lunged at her—looking amusingly like a drowned rat as she did so.

"Fleur!" she shrieked shrilly, eyes half-closed as she fumbled around for something to wipe her face with. "I am goeeng to kill you!"

"Oh, don't be 'zuch a _wet blanket_, Gabrielle." Fleur laughed as she sauntered to the door. Gabrielle fumed behind her and threw the makeshift towel she had used to dry her face with at the older girls retreating form, but the well placed closing of the door stopped it from making contact.

A stomping noise could be heard through that closed door, and Fleur found herself leaning against the hallways wall as she struggled to stay upright throughout her body-wracking giggles. It really had been too long since she had played a prank on her little sister—the younger girl's furious expression was really too amusing.

Once she had recovered, Fleur continued to glide gracefully down the corridor's of Beauxbaton's carriage. As she walked along, she received a plethora of congratulations and claps. Unable to help herself, she basked in the attention. For once, she was being recognised for something other than her beauty. It was a gratifying feeling.

Even girls, those who had glared and sneered at her back when they were at Beauxbaton palace, smiled and applauded her—expressions of distaste nowhere to be found. Though, she knew it wouldn't last, it was relieving not to be a victim of her fellow schoolmates constant jealousy. Furthermore, the extra limelight also helped to keep her from wallowing in her woes concerning Hermione's fury at her entering the tournament.

Soon enough, Fleur was being followed by a large group of girls and boys respectively, as they all made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Honestly, Fleur had never understood why they all found it fitting for her to lead. Oddly enough, it had become the trend ever since she had entered her name into the Goblet. Boy's and girls had began to crowd her, giggling and simpering.

It was quite bothersome. Especially when she wanted to sneak away to speak to Hermione—to gain the younger, wild-haired witches forgiveness; for what exactly, Fleur had no idea. But it was obviously very upsetting for Hermione, so naturally she wanted to fix whatever she had done. Though, however, she was beginning to become slightly infuriated at the bushy-haired Gryffindor's actions.

Because, really? What did she _think_ Fleur came here for? Beauxbaton Academy had many more student's over the age of seventeen who had wanted to come along as well, but weren't allowed because they didn't want to enter. Fleur wasn't even asked. Madame Maxime had merely appeared at her dorm room one afternoon and told her to pack her bags; she was going to Hogwarts.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, Fleur glanced over to her left just as they began to enter Hogwarts; only to see Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and Hermione's best friend, fire a curse at a similarly aged boy with blonde hair. Her step halted immediately when she saw the other boys spell had completely bypassed it's intended target and hit Hermione instead; who Fleur had'n previously seen standing beside Harry.

Blood boiling within her veins, a fierce protective instinct welled up inside of her at seeing her mate being put into any kind of danger—no matter how small—and before Fleur was aware of herself she was sprinting over to Hermione and pulling the younger girl's hands from where they were trying to conceal her mouth.

"Get out of 'ze way, you stupid boy." hissed Fleur, as she pushed the red-haired boy she assumed to be Hermione's other best friend—Ronald-something—out of her way. Ron backed away quickly, rapidly colouring as he did so; incapable of protest.

"F-Fleur—don't—" Hermione tried to prevent Fleur from moving her hands, to no avail.

"Merde. . ." Fleur gasped as she saw two rapidly growing front teeth. They had been already rather large before—something else Fleur had found completely adorable—but now they where reaching around five inches long. Whirling around, with deadly fury flashing brightly in her eyes, Fleur snarled at the blonde boy responsible and the group of people standing just slightly behind him

"You," her tone wasn't forgiving as she advanced, her wand clutched tightly in her gasp. "What eez you're name? I wish 'zo know it before I crush you like 'zee insignificant leetle bug you are. You 'ave made a grave mistake daring to 'urt my—"

Fleur was half-glad she was cut off by another, equally frightening voice. As it was, she wasn't quite ready to show Hermione just how important she was her, let alone the rest of Hogwarts.

"And what is all this racket about?" Fleur shivered as her gaze landed on a tall, imposing man. Pale and gaunt, with oily-looking jet-black hair and a hooked nose. If she hadn't been as angry as she was, she might of felt slightly intimidated. Obviously, the blonde-boy and his friends seemed to be more than a little scared of him—as did everyone else on the scene.

Rapidly, accusations and shouts began escaping the small group's mouths. Uninterested in anything else, Fleur ignored them all and once again focused her attentions back on Hermione, who was now clutching her long teeth and looking panic-stricken. It wasn't until the imposing man in dark robes made an insulting comment about how he saw 'no change' in Hermione's appearance, did Fleur find herself shouting herself; along with Harry and the Ronald boy. The tears that had sprung to her loves eyes had crumbled whatever sliver of composure she had been clinging to.

No one, _no one_, made her heart cry.

"'Ow dare you!" out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hermione's retreating form disappear into another hallway. "To see 'zuch _disrespect_ 'ez astounding. I am disgusted to 'zee a professor of this 'zo-called prestigious school stooping 'zo low as to say something so immature and pety! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Her rage-filled words were mostly unintelligible unfortunately, seeing as Harry and Ron had shouted as well—making the retorts sound more like a garbled mess. The dark-haired man's sneering expression, however, conveyed he had understood what they had been trying to communicate.

"Lets see," Fleur bristled further at the drawling sound of his voice, gritting her teeth as he looked down his nose at them haughtily. "Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter and Weasley. Now get inside, or it'll be a week's worth of detentions. Oh, and _Delacour_ is it?" he arched an eyebrow, "I'll be speaking to your Headmistress promptly. I am sure she can think of a suitable punishment for you."

"Go ahead," she spat at him, before spinning on her heel and rushing in the direction Hermione had ran off in.

After fifteen minutes of wandering the large, labynrith of hallways, Fleur found herself knocking tentatively on a door marked 'Infirmary: Medi-Witch Pomfrey'. An older woman, dressed in typical nursing robes opened the door, a stern look on her face. Narrowed, dark eyes scrutinised Fleur before she spoke.

"Yes?" The impatience was palpable, and it made Fleur shift uncomfortably on her feet.

"I am looking for 'Ermione Granger," biting her lip, she paused. Taking her hat from her head and fiddling with it in front of her, she continued. "'Eez she 'ere, by any chance?" For some reason, the older witch made her feel like a naughty little school boy who was being scolded. It was a disconcerting feeling.

"Yes."

Fleur's already tense shoulders tensed further when the older witch made no move to allow her entry. Eyes darting around uncertainly and her brows pulling together in a furrow, Fleur bit her cheek before asking. "May. . . May I 'zee 'er? I only wish to make sure she 'eez okay."

The Veela's own impatience was beginning to seep through as well. The Medi-Witches behaviour was far from professional. All she wanted to do was check if her destined one was alright. Instead, she was being treated like some sort of vagabond!

"No." The Medi-Witch made to close the door in her face.

Just before it closed however, Fleur stuck her foot out to stop it from completely closing. Outrage was prominent on her face. "What do you mean 'no'? I demand to zee' her, right now!" This was unbelievable. She couldn't grasp why in the world the old woman would be acting so oddly.

The older, greying witch gave a heavy, exasperated sigh before opening the door again and staring at Fleur evenly. "Miss Granger does not want any visitors. I am only conceding to my patient's request. Now, I'm sure she will be finished shrinking her teeth within the hour. You can check on her at lunch, if you're so worried." she went to close the door again. "Goodbye Mademoiselle."

Fleur gaped at the closed door for a few moments before laughing incredulously.

"You know, I thought you were crazy before," Fleur whirled around, only to see Gabrielle standing a little ways down the hall, looking amused. "But 'zis surely proves you really are. . . what is the English expression? _Mad as a 'atter_, I theenk."

Fleur however, wasn't in a mood to be teased. "What do you want, Gabrielle?" she rolled her eyes, "Planning on getting me back for 'zis morning, perhaps?"

Gabrielle's face turned sour and coloured rapidly at the reminder of her 'wake up call'. Angrily, she crossed her arms. "I will get you back for that, 'zister," she assured, glowering. "'Owever, I am here on more important buziness'. 'Zey want all 'zee Champion's for photographs. Why they would want a picture of _you_ though, escapes me. . ."

"You are a real comedian, Gabi." retorted Fleur sarcastically. "Lead 'zee way, 'zen little sister."

—|—|—|—

Fleur kept her expression of neutrality on her face as she handed over her wand to the man who had been introduced as Mr. Olivander. The stout, chubby man had been staring at her hungrily for the last ten minutes, and it was making her increasingly uncomfortable.

She was in no way oblivious to the effect that her unintentional thrall had on men and boy's alike, but most didn't make their appreciation of her looks as blatant as he was. They would blush and stutter, but many usually became more resistant to the effects after the initial shock.

"Mademoiselle Delacour, would you mind—?" Mr. Olivander stepped forward, holding his hand out expectantly. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, Fleur ignored the shudder of disgust that coursed through her as the photographers eyes followed her movements intently.

"Hmm. . ." he examined her wand closely, he twirled it around like a baton and pink and gold sparks emitted from the end. "Nine and a half inches. . . inflexible.. rosewood.. . and containing. . . dear me. . ."

"The 'air from 'zee 'ead of a Veela," she interrupted, "From my grandmuzzer."

A warning glance was shot at Harry, who stared at her with wide eyes. She had not yet informed Hermione of her Veela blood. She would much rather she herself tell her, instead of the other girl finding out from someone else.

Photo's were then taken, and it was only after the overzealous Rita Skeeter was satisfied that they were allowed to leave. Fleur was the first to exit, glad to be finally out of proximity of the creepy, smoking photographer. When she finally reached the Great Hall, she was disappointed to find no Hermione. Sullenly, she continued to eat her food and make cordial small talk with the people at Ravenclaw table.

"Are you waiting for someone?" Cho Chang, a pretty oriental girl a few years younger than herself asked, causing Fleur to glance at her quizzically.

"Why do you ask?" Fleur couldn't help the way her eyes once again flickered quickly to the doors of the Great Hall. The absence of Hermione was worrying her. She was about ready to force herself into the Hospital Wing just to make sure her heart was really alright. It was weighing heavily on her nerves.

Cho smiled slightly as she replied. "You've been staring at the doors since you got here."

"It 'eez notheeng." Fleur shook her head, forcing her gaze down to her plate.

Before Cho could say anything else, however; a large, looming shadow was cast over them both. Frowning, Fleur turned in her seat, only to come face-to-waist with Madame Maxime. Swallowing her food and swiftly wiping her mouth with a napkin, Fleur spoke while craning her neck awkwardly to meet the tall woman's eyes. "'llo, 'eadmistress. To what do I owe 'zis pleasure?"

Madame Maxime did not look impressed, and Fleur had a sneaking suspicion that the imposing, greasy-haired man from earlier had something to do with it. "I request 'zo speak with you in my office immediately, Mademoiselle Delacour. I have had 'zome rather. . . unsavoury complaints about you from on of the profezzor's 'ere. Also, I need to inform you of 'zomething concerning the upcoming task."

Fleur stood up from her seat, casing an apologetic look as Cho, she then turned to Madame Maxime. "Of course, 'eadmistress."

—|—|—|—

**Note:** Okay, so about the French conversation thing—I'm going to keep it the same. Honestly, there isn't really going to be that much dialogue in French anyway, seeing as they are at Hogwarts. Furthermore, I'm going to be switching POV's every chapter between Hermione and Fleur.

There hasn't been that much interaction between Fleur/Hermione yet, but that will change soon, I promise. Oh, and this relationship is going to be very slowly developing. I mean, going from close friends to lovers doesn't happen quickly. There's the whole 'their friendship could be ruined' and 'do they feel the same way?'. Plus, they are teenagers. Insecurities rule their lives—Hermione especially so.

Have questions? Feel free to PM me or just add it into your review. xD


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